


blue to grey to black

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, F/M, Frottage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia, accidental somnophilia, aroace Daisy, pressure kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Jon gets himself into a tight spot while trying to get Daisy to bed.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	blue to grey to black

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I wanted to write on the fly; I thought it was funny as a concept and I spent about an hour busting it out when I finally had some free writing time. 
> 
> CW:  
> > basic consent issues; no prior negotiation is shown or referenced. it’s implied daisy knows what happened at the end of the fic and doesn’t mind it
> 
> No one's bits are specified so choose your own adventure!

The room is dark, shapes revealed by the fuzzy grey-blue of the telly. Jon sits on the sofa, only half-asleep, having persevered where his companion has not. Daisy, with one arm tossed across his shoulders, had slipped away sometime during the middle of the movie. Jon would also like to sleep, but Daisy’s sofa is an awful place to spend the night — he knows this from firsthand experience. 

“Daisy?” With a gentle prod, Jon tries to wake up his companion. He knows Daisy’s a heavy sleeper — it’ll take a bit more effort to wake her up — yet he finds himself reluctant. It’s nice to observe her like this. Lately, Daisy’s been more relaxed around Jon, especially given how often he’s stayed at her place. Yet there has always been something of an edge to Daisy’s presence, something rough, like splintering wood, that might hurt Jon if he presses in too close or goes against its grain. So Jon indulges, takes his moment to appreciate this softer side of Daisy that’s not so often seen. Her face is slack when she sleeps, brows no longer drawn, jaw unclenched. Every now and then, she snores a little bit, a soft sound that, for some reason, feels nostalgic to Jon. Sitting so close, he can see the light of the telly playing off her lashes, and way her blond hair curls around her ears. 

Eventually, though, he starts to feel a bit like he’s cheating or something. Sure, he spends the night more often than not, sharing a bed each time, but that doesn’t mean staring at Daisy while she sleeps is any less creepy. Jon resolves to wake her up and relocate them both to the other room. 

Before he has a chance, Daisy moves. For a second Jon thinks she’s woken up, but she only grumbles and adjusts her weight-

And suddenly all of it is on Jon. 

“D-Daisy-!” Jon barely gets a protest out before she’s lying down on him, knocking Jon over into the sofa. He goes easily, caught totally off guard by her arm, wrapping more securely around his shoulders, as she falls on top of him. Pulling him closer, Daisy snuffles into his shoulder as she adjusts their positions, rolling over, tugging and shifting until Jon’s tucked rather snuggly between her and the back of the sofa. 

“...Daisy?” Jon asks, very quietly, which is a bit counterintuitive, but he finds it difficult to break the silence. Beneath it, close enough that Jon can hear, is Daisy’s breathing, her unconscious grumbles and murmuring. She does this a lot in her sleep, he’s noticed, and he’s often wondered if she knows. It’s always reminded him a bit of how a cat or dog might twitch in their sleep, making little noises, huffing through their noses as they have their odd little dreams. Daisy hums something, somewhere deep in her chest, which Jon realizes is very close to his face. In a loose tank top meant to be slept in, her cleavage is plain to see, especially with Jon nearly tucked into it by her arm. He blushes a bit, self-conscious and giddy of the proximity. They don’t... Well, it’s not often he gets to see, is all. Daisy prefers high-collars and modest necklines. But he’s always been a fan, even if it’s just looking that he prefers. 

As Jon debates on whether or not it would be easier to roughly wake Daisy up or simply fall asleep where he is, gently smooshed into the sofa, Daisy shifts again. She rolls, ever so slightly, so that more of her weight is on Jon. He feels the warm press of her stomach against his own. Every ounce of muscle and bone settles onto Jon, and he’s forced to hold it, to squirm enough so he can keep breathing. Oddly enough, he doesn’t find the constriction distressing. 

Actually, in truth, Jon’s surprised to find that he’s… 

Well. There’s her breath, hot against his temple, just barely tickling his ear as she nuzzles into his hair. There’s Daisy’s arm, holding him to her, almost trapping him against her chest, where his cheek rests now along her sternum. He can can feel the swell of her breasts pressing against him with every slow breath. So too can he feel the way her heart beats and the warmth of her skin. Daisy’s so much taller and heavier than Jon is — having her on him like this is more than a little overwhelming, but in a way Jon is quickly realizing might be a bit _too_ good. He can’t quite process it, though, too fuzzy-headed by the weight of her stomach on his, pressing down on him with every inhale, and her thigh-

She’s snuck one thick thigh between his. Where Jon wears long sweatpants, Daisy prefers to sleep in short-shorts, not nearly as particular about having her legs on display as anything above the waist. Pale skin tucked between dark grey fabric, the wide expanse of her thigh is on him, unmoving, but even just _being_ there seems to be enough for Jon. It’s more pressure, more- more pinning him in place. He can’t move his left leg, trapped beneath hers, and his right leg is useless where it rests against the back of the sofa. 

At some point, Jon realizes he’s getting very, very warm. It’s like he’s trapped in a dark little pocket of space, suffocating from Daisy’s scent and her presence as well as her body. He can still see, faintly, the light of the telly cast across the top of the sofa, across the slope of Daisy’s shoulder, curled into him. But he can’t see her face, can only hear her breathing and muttering, voice rough and faint with sleep. 

He squirms, but it’s miniscule movement, clearly futile; yet he continues, gradually breathing harder as time crawls by. Soon, his movements are undoubtedly not in service of removing himself from his little predicament. 

Daisy mutters something, but Jon’s not listening now, too focused on the heat between his legs and the pressure across his body, the feeling of security and secrecy and safety that fills him up until his body feels full of something thick and sweet. It suffocates him and his breath stutters as he rocks his hips. 

It doesn’t take long for him to come. It takes so little time, in fact, that when it hits, Jon’s not prepared. He gasps, once, a bit too loud, then presses his face into Daisy’s chest to muffle the rest of his noises. His limbs jolt and he shivers, but even as his body reacts without his conscious input, there’s hardly any way to resist Daisy’s bulk. She lays there, sturdy as stone as Jon falls apart against her, and that mere fact is enough to keeping it going longer than he’s used to. It’s a pleasant burst of sensation rolling, rocking, gently lapping at him in little waves until there’s only his panting and Daisy’s scent and her weight and her warmth. 

* * *

Jon wakes up with a hell of a crook in his neck. When he opens his eyes, Daisy’s gone, but there’s a little blanket haphazardly thrown on top of him. Jon sits up, enough to spot Daisy beyond the sofa at the little dining room table she has, eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. 

“Sleep alright?” she asks, and shows her teeth as she grins around a bite of eggs. Jon glares at her, ducking his head so she can’t possibly see him blush. 


End file.
